Pareidolia: Finding Face(s)

I saw a link posted on facebook where there were various examples shown of inanimate everyday objects that look like faces. There's even a name for the phenomenon: Pareidolia. ("Pareidolia! That's fun to say!") If you follow the link you'll read that "Pareidolia is a psychological phenomenon involving a vague and random stimulus (often an image or sound) being perceived as significant. It commonly occurs as face-like patterns in inanimate objects."

After seeing the examples, I thought it would be fun to go on a Face Finding Scavenger Hunt with the kids and experience some pareidolia of our own. Here is what we found:

Can you see it? Is it a phone stand or a face with a rather high hairdo?

Kaitlin called me on my way to work to tell me that she'd found this one.

Two eyes and a big smile - must have just been out shopping.

Poor fridge. So sad because it's hard water stains are showing.

I think this Odyssey has a rather smug smile considering how bad it needs a bath.

My kids see an animal with horns,  I see a skull. What do you see?

I do believe the vent is winking at me!

"I asked for wonder and He gave it to me."

wonder: winter barns

I love old barns. I think it's the raggedyness in me that loves them. Here's some I've driven by on my way to and fro this winter.

Just north of Rochester.

On the road to Zumbrota.

Taken from Interstate 90.

Taken from Interstate 90.

At Nelson Valley.

On a dirt road that I could never remember how to get back to.

"I asked for wonder and He gave it to me."

- Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, in The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning

Potato chips and redemption

My grandma is 95 today. A while ago, when my kids and I were in Minneapolis for something or other, my son John said, "Hey, we should visit Great-Grandma."

It was around lunchtime so we decided to bring lunch with us. Before we arrived at her place, we picked up some deli sandwiches and potato chips at the local grocery store.

Grandma was especially excited about the potato chips. During the course of our lunch together she must have said no less than six times: "Whoever invented the potato chip, they really knew what they were doing!" The kids and I still wonder about the potato chip inventor and relish Grandma's enthusiasm for the treat every time we have potato chips now.

So, in honor of Grandma's 95th birthday, I present:
The story of the invention of the potato chip:

George Crum

In the summer of 1853, Native American George Crum was employed as a chef at an elegant resort in Saratoga Springs, New York. On Moon Lake Lodge's restaurant menu were French-fried potatoes, prepared by Crum in the standard, thick-cut French style that was popularized in 1700s France and enjoyed by Thomas Jefferson as ambassador to that country. Ever since Jefferson brought the recipe to America and served French fries to guests at Monticello, the dish was popular and serious dinner fare.

At Moon Lake Lodge, one dinner guest found chef Crum's fries too thick. Crum cut and fried a thinner batch, but these, too, met with disapproval. Exasperated, Crum decided to rile the guest by producing French fries too thin and crisp to skewer with a fork. The plan backfired. The guest was ecstatic over the browned, paper-thin potatoes, and other diners requested Crum's potato chips, which began to appear on the menu as Saratoga Chips, a house specialty.

In 1860 George opened his own restaurant in a building on Malta Avenue near Saratoga Lake, and within a few years was catering to wealthy clients including William Vanderbilt, Cornelius Vanderbilt, Jay Gould, and Henry Hilton. (For more information visit this site where I got this story. http://www.ideafinder.com/history/inventions/potatochips.htm)

Interestingly, Grandma's comment that whoever invented the potato chip really knew what they were doing is not accurate, though it is a fine expression of the joy she had eating them. George Crum did not know what he was doing.

I find it fascinating that the potato chip was born out of frustration and became a culinary sensation.

What a fantastic redemption.

The Long Road Home


This road's not easy. It's not the one I would have chosen but it's the one I'm on. It's not very pretty, this road, with the dirt and the ruts that run so deep.

Yet I'm finding beauty here on this long road home. Beauty even here.

I'm coming home.

Winter's Grace

Snow.
Snow on snow
On snow.

It covers my world like
A layer of frosting
Like a sugary coating
Rich gooey goodness.

It lays on the branches
Like piles of padding,
Like poufy bed pillows
You don’t want to use.

Snow
On top of snow.

Dancing in the sun's light,
Snowflakes on the hillside,
Countless crystals dazzling
Showing their beauty.

Clarion pixies, they
Leap up in front of me
Bring my attention to
The wondercrisp scene.

Of snow.

Subtle strips of white stretch
Across the horizon
Minimalist painting
Patches of snowlight.

As winter's housewife flings
Out freshly bleached bed sheets,
So white covers grey with
Forgiveness and grace.

White covers grey.
A moment of grace.

Snow.

wonder at the car wash

"I asked for wonder and He gave it to me." - Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, in The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning

"Dear Lord, grant me the grace of wonder. Surprise me, amaze me, awe me in every crevice of Your universe... Each day enrapture me with Your marvelous things without number. I do not ask to see the reason for it all; I ask only to share the wonder of it all." - Rabbi Joshua Abraham Heschel in The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning.

it's better to give

On a drive through downtown Rochester, you may very likely see dozens of nurses dressed in their scrubs waiting for the bus. You may see Arabian men with traditional black and white checked head dressings or Somali women with their heads covered crossing the street. You'll probably also see a husband pushing his wife in a wheelchair, a patient in a light blue hospital gown pushing his IV drip enjoying the fresh air, or a little girl with stitches across her shaved head. You will definitely see cars with licence plates from any state in the country parked in front of hotels with welcome signs in ten languages. Each year over 2.5 million visitors come through Rochester. The hospitality and tourist industry in Rochester is important to the city's economy, driven by the health care industry. If you ever visit Rochester, you cannot go far without noticing the influence of the Mayo Clinic. I wonder if the people who live in Rochester ever get used to seeing the human drama that is in the heart of their town every day. I wonder if they become too accustomed to it. I wonder if I will. When we were first in Rochester, JD and I had a rare night out. We'd found a babysitter, a high school girl with a crest white strips smile and size 2 jeans. Because we were celebrating our anniversary we wanted to go someplace nice, but we weren't familiar with the town's nicer eating establishments. In a desperate move, we asked the babysitter if she knew of some place nice that we could celebrate our anniversary. She shrugged and said, "Well, my parent's like Victoria's. It's nice. It's Italian." So we went to Victoria's in downtown Rochester. Victoria's is the sort of place that has an old establishment atmosphere. The lights are low with candle's flickering on the dark wood and intricately detailed fresco paintings. After a long wait, we were seated at a table for two with a white linen table cloth. As we were getting settled, I couldn't help but notice the family at the table next to ours, seated behind JD. They were a family of three: mom, dad and young girl. They looked a little out of place in this fine establishment in their t-shirts and jeans. I was facing the dad, whose bed head hair and glasses betrayed his tiredness. It wasn't too hard to figure out that their daughter was a patient at the Mayo Clinic, with her head wrapped in white bandages. She looked to be my son's age. I tried to imagine what it might be like to see John's head wrapped in bandages like a mummy. "JD!" I said, "You wanna do something crazy?" He looked at me like I might in fact be crazy. "Let's pay for their meal," I said nodding to the family behind him. This was a crazy suggestion indeed. We were splurging for our own meal, and as of yet, had no idea what this family had ordered to eat. He couldn't see them, and felt awkward turning around to investigate them, so I suggested he take a trip to the restroom and on the way check this family out. He did and when he came back he was all smiles. "Let's do it!" he said. The next time the waiter came to our table, we told him that we wanted to pay for their check anonymously. He smiled in a conspiratory way and told us it would be no problem. I was fortunate enough to be able to watch when the waiter approached their table and told them that they didn't have to pay for their meal. The dad's smile was like a weight had momentarily been lifted. I caught the mom's profile as she looked at her head wrapped daughter, and her eyes were wide and her smile was huge as she gave her daughter a hug. And the little girl, she looked dazed. All three of them looked around the restaurant. I was suddenly very engrossed in my tortellini, not wanting to meet their eyes and give our secret away. The rest of the night, as JD and I walked through the streets of Rochester, we felt like we were walking on air. We were so giddy with the joy of having blessed this little family at a difficult time in their lives. We giggled at the craziness of what we'd done. We're living on faith that God will supply our own needs, what's another family's meal to God? Surely He'd understand. It was fun to meet other people's needs when they least expected it. Our little act of giving wasn't much in comparison to the needs that this family surely must have while they were dealing with whatever had brought them to Rochester and the Mayo Clinic. But it was something. And we were so happy to have been a part of it. And to have seen their smiles! Truly, it's better to give than to receive.

red light christmas

When I was fourteen we moved from Guilderland, New York to Amsterdam, Holland. We lived in Amsterdam during the holiday season of 1986. My parents enrolled in a 'Discipleship Training School' before they moved on to Germany to work as missionaries. In September 1986, we flew People Express Airlines to Amsterdam. A guy named Jan picked us up and we rode in a bright orange van that was remarkably cube-like from the airport to our new home. Looking out the window, I was fascinated by the ugly cars and trucks I saw whizzing past us. At our new home, a building dubbed 'De Poort,' we were assigned three rooms. De Poort was basically a dormitory with meeting rooms. My younger sister, Bethany, and I shared a small room that fit our bunk bed, a dresser, a desk and not much else. My brother, Grant had his own room of the same size. My parents were given a larger corner room with two twin beds pushed together. Their room doubled as our "family room" by default because it was the biggest. Other families shared the hall with us. We all shared the toilets and showers across the hall. I was fascinated by the toilets. They weren't at all like porcelain bowls. They were more like porcelain shelves. Why on earth would they make toilets with shelves for the poop to land on? I contemplated that question many times in the coming months. This was certainly a strange new place. When I looked out my bedroom window, I could look out and see huge ships docked in a bay and a canal running down the street. Amsterdam was full of canals lined with house boats. And everyone rode bikes. We called them "Amsterdam Bikes." They were black and ugly. So ugly that no one would steal them. Stolen bikes were a problem, that's why people had ugly bikes. Everywhere there were bikes. And dutch girls in skirts riding side saddle on the back of ugly bikes while tall dutch boys pedaled with big smiles. And baskets on bikes full of groceries and flowers. And there were dogs were everywhere. On the cobblestone streets. Inside the stores. Even inside cafes. Dog poop was everywhere too. After we lived there for a couple weeks, we would laugh and say "you know who the locals are. They're the ones looking down as they walk along the street." All the tourists looked up at the sights and then stepped in dog poop. It made us feel like a local to say that. There was a cafe across the canal from my bedroom window that I liked to go buy candy at. This cafe had the biggest assortment of gummy candies that I had ever seen. That's where I learned to like black licorice. Even now, every time I eat black licorice I think of that little cafe with red and white curtains that sold gummy candies and served coffee and beer. I had my first taste of coffee one night when a bunch of the younger DTS students were hanging out in a lounge on one of the floors at De Poort. The coffee wasn't that bad. It wasn't that good either. There were a number of kids who went to DTS right out of high school, so some of my parents' classmates were only three years older than me. One guy, Chris, looked like a seventeen year old Jesus with brown shoulder length hair and potato sack type ponchos. Except he'd always sing 'Witchy Woman' and 'Hotel California' when we were doing dishes. I don't know if Jesus would have sang those songs. Maybe. We each had jobs at De Poort and I always liked working in the kitchen. Especially when Chris sang. Besides the shelf toilets and house boats and Amsterdam bikes, another thing I was fascinated by was the chocolate sprinkles that they put out at breakfast. We ate our meals in the lower level of De Poort in the dining hall that looked out on the courtyard. Each morning we had our choice of plain yogurt, bread or corn flakes. The chocolate sprinkles were supposed to be for the yogurt or the bread. When I first saw the chocolate sprinkles, they reminded me of the pellets from a bunny I once won at an Easter Egg hunt in Brookings. I tried them on the buttered bread and they were very good. I tried them in the plain yogurt and they were not so good. I don't think anything besides lots of sugar could make plain yogurt taste much better. Every week we'd have "De Poort Soup" for one of our meals. Basically De Poort soup is all the left overs from the previous week thrown in a pot with some water. Somehow the De Poort cooks always made it taste palatable. Sometimes now I'll make a De Poort Soup or a De Poort Casserole. It's not always palatable. That year I was home schooled. Well, I was sort of home schooled. I taught myself and my parents gave me my tests. But I wasn't very self-disciplined. Instead I drew pictures of the row houses across the canal. I browsed the Missionary Closet for free books and fell in love with Louis L'Amour. I taught myself to knit with discarded yarn I found in the Closet and knitted Grant and Bethany scarves for Christmas. I roamed the streets of Amsterdam. I did everything but my school work. Until my principal started threatening to expel me. I wasn't really sure how that was going to work, but I tried to apply myself. We were in Amsterdam during the Christmas season and New Years. Each of the YWAMers had to sign up for different Christmas outreaches in the city. My mom and dad signed us up to go Christmas caroling to the prostitutes in the Red Light District. We only lived a couple blocks from the Red Light District, but we pretty much avoided it. YWAM had a cafe in the middle of the Red Light District that we volunteered at a couple times. It was pretty cool to see what God was doing in the middle of such spiritual desolation. And to see the YWAMers serving the down and out. When it was time to go Christmas caroling we were told that we had to look at the women in the windows. We usually looked down at the street when we went by their windows. But this time we were told that we had to look into their eyes. So, we practiced "Feliz Navidad" and once we knew all the words we bundled up and sang to the prostitutes. When I looked in their eyes, they were actually smiling. Some of them were crying. I don't think they got many groups of people coming around to sing Christmas carols to them. We were treating them like people, not merchandise. I hope that they felt God's love through us. That Christmas we almost didn't have Christmas. We didn't have much money. My parent's only had $300 pledged support. But Grant went and bought a small potted evergreen. We made some ornaments. We went "shopping" at the Missionary Closet. I made everyone presents. I gave my parents a picture of the row houses across the street, and Bethany and Grant got their scarves I'd been experimenting on. Grant's scarf was a little short because I ran out of yarn from the Closet. That Christmas I got some shampoo and some knitting magazines published around 1967. I loved them. That Christmas in Amsterdam was one of my favorite Christmases to this date because it was about love, not about presents. We hardly had anything, and yet we had so much.

october opportunity

Autumn is one of my favorite times of the year. I love the colorful foliage, the smell of pumpkin spice and the anticipation of the holiday season that’s right around the corner. But before we get to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas, we have to survive the holiday that has so many Christians divided on how to spend it: Halloween. What should our Christian response be to it? Should we even acknowledge it? Embrace it? Edit it? Ignore it? Or just accept it? In Colossians 4:5 Paul writes, “Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity.” In the original language it means literally, “redeeming the time.” I like that image as I struggle with how to address Halloween. We can redeem the time by transforming Halloween into an opportunity to act toward non-Christians in a way that could draw them closer to Christ. Consider the opportunity. What other time of the year can you go to any house with a light on and be greeted warmly by the people inside? When else does a parade of people come to your front door expecting you to give them something? What an opportunity! One Halloween as I went trick-or-treating with the kids, I realized that every home in our neighborhood that I knew was occupied by a Christian family was dark and uninviting to trick-or-treaters. A missed opportunity? Conversely, in another neighborhood we lived in, a church got together and did a “Veggie Tales” carnival on their pastor’s lawn. There were carnival games, a Polaroid picture with Larry Boy, free hot dogs & free water. On everything they passed out was an invitation to their church. They brought the church to the trick-or-treaters. That’s making the most an opportunity! I have some friends whose Christian neighbors bring their grill & fire pit out to their driveway on Halloween night and pass out hot dogs instead of candy. People linger around the fire pit while they eat their hot dogs. Over the years, they have seen people pray to receive Christ on Halloween night because of conversations they have had over hot dogs. That’s redeeming the time! However I feel about Halloween, it is at the very least, an unparalleled opportunity to reach out and redeem the time.

remote control

The other day we had computer problems. One of our laptops was connecting to the internet, but the other laptop couldn't find the wireless network and connect. For a couple days, JD and I just shared my laptop. Then I decided to try to figure out on my own what was wrong with his connection.

I don't know why I thought I could. I'm not that great with computers. I guess I just know enough to think I might be able to fix it. And enough to make him think I could fix it. After all, I've figured things out on my own before. I'm pretty good at fixing things and working things out. I could do this.

I couldn't. Another day or two went by. Finally, with JD needing his laptop connection, realizing that I was the only one who would have time (and patience) enough to do it, I called our wireless provider. "Your wireless network is working," said the Charter technical support guy. "Your computer's wireless signal must be turned off." So, I figured out how to turn it on and still couldn't connect.

So I placed a call to Dell. "Your wireless network is not configured on the computer," said the Dell technical support guy. "I'm going to have to remotely access your other computer to find out your network key. Will that be okay?" So, with my permission, he got on my computer and walked me through how to fix the network connection.

Remote Control. It's pretty amazing. Pretty simple. A little scary. And a lot more effective than doing it on my own.

Like when I try to fix my own problems. God, my Technical Support, is standing by. He's there 24/7. A toll free prayer away. Yet I tend to want to try to figure it out on my own. Thinking I can fix it when I don't really know what's going on.

And God, who made me, who knows me, who understands me is patiently waiting for me to give him permission to have access to my life. And when I do, it's amazing. It's simple. It's scary. But, man is it effective!

"Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." John 15:4-5

on marinating

Last night we had some steaks that I had gotten on sale for dinner. I had meant to marinate them, but as the day got from me we just threw them on the grill plain. JD was a fine grill-master and the steaks were nice and juicy. But they were plain. They just needed a little something. Of course, I'd been looking forward to marinating them in this fabulous marinade that I'd found in one of Doris' cookbooks that I snatched when we lived with her. It's actually a marinade for flank steak. I wanted to try it on the sale steaks. Each time I've made this marinated flank steak it has disappeared faster than you can say "yummy." When you chew the juicy, flavorful meat you can't help but close your eyes and "mm-mmmm." I think it just might cross the line from mere food to fantasy. It got me thinking about how marinade can transform meat. And that got me thinking about how marinating in God's word can transform people. Marinating and meditating are very similar concepts. One is soaking in juices, the other is soaking in God's word. Both take a while. Both are transforming. How do you marinate in God's word? Simply read it. Read it even when you don't want to. Make time when you don't have time. Not every reading will be exciting but it is the living and active Word of God, sharper than a two edged sword, and when you faithfully read with anticipation, suddenly you will find that there are fireworks going off in your soul. Perhaps it's a verse that spoke to your situation. Perhaps it's a new understanding of the history of the Israelites and what they went through, and what God went through with them. But when you read God's word faithfully, there will be fireworks. And even when there aren't fireworks, you are still marinating, becoming transformed to be like Christ. Marinate in God's Word so much that you know it. Read the same thing over and over. Think about it. Let it soak down into your soul, getting the flavor right there to the deepest part of you. Memorize it. Put post-it notes with flavorful verses on your mirror, by the coffee maker, on your dashboard. Anywhere you see it again and again. When you are saturated with the flavor of Christ, because you've been soaking in the Word of God, you will find that you do what God says because you know what He says. When you are tempted, something you've read in God's word flashes through your mind and you are able to resist. You've been transformed. And I imagine that God might be saying "mm-mmmm." "Do not let this Book of the Law depart from your mouth; meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful." Joshua 1:8

star gazing

Last night we went for a late night family walk. While we were walking we noticed how bright the stars were. So when we got home, I got a blanket, spread it out over the wet grass, and we laid on our backs gazing at the beautiful night sky. We found the Big Dipper & the North Star. We even saw two falling stars while we were laying there.

And we discussed how great God is. The creator of the heavens and the earth. He knows each of the stars by name. Kaitlin told us that one of them is named Julia because she saw on TV that Julia had a star named after her. Probably so. God knows Julia the Star by name. And he knows us, too.

Oh if I could have stayed there forever with Kaitlin and Sarah laying on each side of me nestled in my arms!

This morning my reading in my One Year Bible was, providentially, Isaiah 40.

Look up to the heavens.
Who created all the stars?
He brings them out like an army, one after another,
calling each by its name.
Because of his great power and incomparable strength,
not a single one is missing.
O Jacob, how can you say the Lord does not see your troubles?
O Israel, how can you say God ignores your rights?
Have you never heard?
Have you never understood?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of all the earth.
He never grows weak or weary.
No one can measure the depths of his understanding.
He gives power to the weak
and strength to the powerless.
(Isaiah 40:26-29)

The funny thing is, I got behind in my reading. This wasn't supposed to be the day that I read it. But God is so good, so timely. He cares for the stars & he cares enough for me to save the "wrong" day's reading for the right time.